


Defence Mechanisms

by Aquila_Star



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco are in love. But love doesn’t sail smoothly when you’re too busy putting up walls to see that it’s in your hands. A series of episodes that, hopefully, tell their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defence Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistedmiracle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/gifts).



> Betaed by the lovely noo and 7ofeleven. Ta, ladies.

_5\. The Night Draco Knew Something Had To Change_

At times like this, Harry was hot. Skin on skin, hands grasping and sliding, clutching at each other, tongues and teeth and stubble-scraped cheeks. They rutted feverishly, chasing each other down until they caught their orgasms at last, their chest heaving from the rush, breathing in the heavy scent of sex and sweat--oh yes, this, this was as hot as it gets.

Inevitably, sweat evaporated and panting subsided, and Draco could feel the cold front moving in as they lay in silence, until finally Harry pulled himself up off the bed and rummaged through the detritus left behind, searching for his clothes.

Draco didn't move, hoping that by staying still, silent, perhaps he could hang on to that heat for a just another minute, but it never worked. Soon enough Harry was dressed, dropping a kiss onto Draco's clammy forehead and murmuring something to placate him. 'Early day tomorrow', 'meeting Ron for a drink', 'got a case to research'; each excuse the same as the previous one, all of them saying one thing.

'Thanks for the fuck, Malfoy. See you around.'

Draco couldn't fault him for it, this was never supposed to be serious, just fighting that turned into fucking, which turned into a series of fucks, and Draco knew it wasn't going anywhere. Where could it go? Harry may be single at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before his One True Love returned from her studies somewhere in Europe, fuck if Draco knew where, and they got married and lived forever in ginger bliss. Not like he cared, anyway.

Besides, Draco was all but betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, lovely and blonde and perfectly pureblooded, the ideal candidate to be the next Lady Malfoy. Never mind that Draco had spoken to her outside of Hogwarts a bare six times, while at school their dialogue consisted of greetings and small talk, and always in a group. Never mind that his father had done all the arranging, without any input from Draco. Or that he'd rather spend his time getting plowed by Harry Potter than...well, than practically anything else.

Draco hauled himself out of the bed, out of sheets still damp with the results of their exertions. He stood for a moment, pondering the idea of leaving them until Harry’s scent had faded, but he called for a house elf to remake the bed instead. The last thing he needed was to sleep in sheets scented with Harry; as if he needed to be more fixated than he already was.

_3\. The Day Draco was Accosted at the Ministry_

Draco was just minding his own business, strolling down the corridor to his office. By office, he meant cubicle. Not just any cubicle, not for Draco Malfoy, no. He had been given the smallest, dingiest cubicle in the department, all the way in the back. He didn't mind though, a few handy charms gave it some light and colour, and it was quiet and private and no one ever bothered him there. With judicious use of wizarding space, he had all the room he needed and then some. Why no one else seemed to think of that, he had no idea.

He was humming merrily to himself as he went, it was amazing what regular sex did for a mood. It had been three days since Harry had last knocked on the door of his flat but, considering the timing of their trysts so far, he would likely show up again that very evening.

They never made plans to see each other and they never went out. In fact, Draco had never even been to Harry's flat after that first time, for the simple fact that he had never needed to seek Harry out. Harry always came to him, not that Draco had any illusions about what that meant.

Harry never spoke a word beyond what was necessary to get into Draco's pants, not that it took much effort as Draco was always willing. No, Harry had barely said anything to him since the first night, the night he told Draco how sexy he was before pinning him to the door of the loo and snogging his brains out.

Oh, he hadn’t minded. He was still shagging Harry after all, and that had to count for something, right? He was better off than anyone else in Britain, as far as he knew. The fact that their relationship, if what they were doing could be labelled as such, was so transient, so uncertain, well it hadn't occurred to Draco to mind. Yet.

At this moment however, Draco's mind was filled with different thoughts, leaning toward a more visceral remembering of Harry. Naked, panting and sweaty, leaning over him, being inside him, that intense look in fathomless green eyes as he pounded Draco like a champion.

Draco let out a rather girly shriek when an arm shot out from a side corridor and pulled him in. He found himself pressed against the wall, a hard body holding him, muscled arms forming a cage around his head, hips pinning his to the wall with ease. Draco had no desire to struggle, the presence of Harry, the familiar heat, oh, how he wanted it. There was a flash of green before his mouth was forced open by the weight of a persistent tongue, the scent of Harry's cologne crashing into his senses as he kissed back, suddenly clinging.

Then there was a new hardness, hot and throbbing, or so Draco imagined, the layers of their clothing a barrier that was suddenly excruciating. He moaned without attempting restraint, grinding his hips forward, answering pressure with pressure. Harry moaned back, his mouth releasing Draco's and moving instead to his neck, soft lips and spiky stubble creating a dichotomy of sensations, all of which shot straight to his cock as Harry sucked love bites along the column of Draco's neck.

“Ngh,” was all Draco was able to convey as a deft hand dropped to their groins, rubbing hard at Draco's cock for a moment before finally unbuckling his belt, trousers soon following. Somewhere, on some level, Draco knew that this was not the best place, but with Harry's hand brushing his cock as he unfastened his own clothes, Draco could not muster the strength to reply. Or the will. Foolish or not, he wanted this. He'd take anything of Harry that he could get, wherever they were.

And then there was more heat, smooth skin encasing an erection that could fuck through a wall, Draco imagined, and it was pressed up against his own, Harry's large hand clutching their cocks together even as his hips pressed Draco back against the wall. He had nowhere to go, even if he'd wanted it.

Which he didn't. Harry was jerking them off now, strong, hard strokes as his lips made their way back up to Draco's mouth. Their kisses were messier than before, losing cohesion as they raced toward the fastest, most intense climax of Draco's life. Then again, every climax with Harry felt that way.

Then Harry gasped and growled, biting down on Draco's lower lip ferociously, the taste of blood mingling unpleasantly with the taste of Harry, but even that was not enough to keep Draco's orgasm from crashing over him. He Harry’s lip in return, drinking in a hiss as Harry came, his release joining Draco's in a sticky mess, all over his hand, their cocks and, inevitably, their clothes.

They panted in the aftermath, moments ticking by while Draco regained his senses, his brain trying to catch up with all that had occurred. Before it could, Harry pushed back off the wall with the hand still braced beside Draco's head, muttering a cleaning spell and removing any trace of their activities from their skin and clothing. Draco bit back a whimper when the tingles rushed over the sensitive skin of his cock, the feeling intensified by the cold air that had rushed in at Harry's sudden distance.

“Love your arse in those slacks, Malfoy,” Harry said with a wink, sucking one more time on Draco's bottom lip before tucking himself in perfunctorily and turning to walk away.

“Potter, what the fuck?” Draco snarled, refastening his own clothing before someone came by and saw him there, his face and neck no doubt red from Harry's exertions, his limp, sated cock dangling out of his pants. Not the most dignified pose, that.

“Couldn't resist,” Harry said, giving Draco another wink, not at all attractively. “See you around, Malfoy,” he said, striding down the corridor, leaving Draco behind, as always, confused and wanting more.

_1\. The Night It All Started To Go Downhill_

“Mafloy, wait up a sec,” came the slurred but familiar voice, as Draco made to open the door. Sure, he'd noticed Potter entering the room behind him as he'd emptied his bladder into the urinal, but he had hoped to escape before the drunken buffoon noticed him. He was halfway pissed himself, and Potter was unpredictable, one never knew what he would do when provoked and Draco definitely had a talent for provoking him. No, it was best to flee before the shite hit the fan... err, perhaps a less visceral metaphor, considering their current location.

“Can I help you, Potter?” Draco replied, turning to face him with arms crossed defensively. He imagined he could feel the ache in his scars, despite the fact that Snape and Pomfrey had managed to eradicate any reminder of the spell that had shredded his chest like so much cabbage.

“You sure can,” Potter said with a lopsided leer. The man couldn't even leer right. What a waste of skin. A waste that was approaching Draco rather surefootedly, considering his apparent state of intoxication. When had Potter grown so tall? He had a smudge of stubble across one cheek, as if he had shaved in a hurry and had consequently done a shitty job of it. His hair was still as messy as ever, though shorter, and Draco's gaze was automatically drawn to the faded lightning bolt on his brow, now barely noticeable, especially in the dim light of the men's loo.

Were they fated to conduct confrontations in bathrooms? Draco blinked the thought away, only to discover that Potter had come even closer and was now standing directly in front of him, hot breath wafting into his face along with the evidence of what he'd been drinking. Firewhisky, unless Draco missed his guess, which was unlikely, as he'd spent the evening consuming the same.

“Malfoy, when did you become so hot?” Potter said, shocking Draco into silence. How was he expected to respond to that? Was Potter taking the piss? Was he serious? If he was serious, when did he turn gay?

“Wha?” was all the response Draco could manage, staring at Potter as if he had three heads. But he only had one head and it was currently eyeing Draco up and down, taking a noticeably longer time ogling his groin area. Draco couldn't deny there was some response there, but then again, Potter had grown hot too. He had some musky cologne on, but it didn't overpower the scent of man, sweaty and earthy and oh, so very arousing.

Potter was even closer now, pressing Draco against the door off the loo, his lips drifting nearer and nearer to Draco's. How far was Potter going to take this, anyway?

“Seriously, Malfoy... you're like sex on a stick. A very sexy stick. A stick of sex,” Potter slurred, placing one heavy hand on the door above Draco's shoulder and letting the other slide down Draco's arm. When he reached Draco's hand and their skin touched, Draco felt a tingle begin to form in his belly, quickly shooting out to all his extremities, including his now very interested cock.

“Potter, I... are you sure you know who you're talking to?” Draco forced out, still uncertain that this wasn't some big prank to humiliate him. Perhaps there were Weasleys and whoever that little blond Mudblood was, the one with the camera, waiting behind the stall doors for Draco to respond so they could jump out and laugh at him. And take incriminating pictures to be splashed across the Daily Prophet.

“Why?” Potter said, studying Draco's face intently. “You're still Draco Malfoy, right? Pointy, annoying blond bloke? The one with the snooty stick up his arse? That one?”

“Oi!” Draco exclaimed, but before he could protest any further to Potter's unflattering description, his lips found themselves otherwise occupied, and then Potter's tongue was there, _in his mouth_ and really, there was nothing else to do but kiss back.

And oh, it was hot. So very, very hot. Potter's body pinned him to the door as his tongue and lips pulled out Draco's breath, his soul, like some kind of perverted Dementor. His mouth was on fire, like the whisky they'd both been drinking, his hands suddenly busy, one in Draco's hair, tugging just short of pain, and the other grasping his arse, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.

And his cock. His cock as a brand against Draco's even through all their clothing, it was hot and hard and damned if Draco's wasn't doing a fine imitation.

Potter must have apparated them out of the loo because the next moment Draco found himself pressed against another surface altogether, this one was cold at his back and there was also a distinct drop in the ambient temperature around them. Draco noticed, but he didn't really care, his hands were too busy hanging on to Potter's surprisingly broad shoulders as if his life depended on it. And perhaps it did, as Potter's hands were now both busy on his arse, lifting him up until Draco's legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The air around them may have been cool, but the kisses certainly weren't.

Potter's mouth was hotter than ever as it sucked and licked a trail down Draco's neck, no doubt leaving teeth marks in its wake. Draco couldn't bring himself to care, provided Potter did not suddenly decide to stop. He seemed to have no intentions of the sort, and soon Draco was clinging to him, taking everything he could and giving back just as much as Potter rutted against him, bringing them both to the edge of climax and tossing them over the cliff without looking, panting and thrusting and clawing at Draco's still-clothed arse, the wall rough against his back. Draco barely noticed it as he gasped out Potter's name, his _real_ name, the given one, the one that Draco had worked so hard at pretending he didn't know in favour of the harsh way 'Potter' could be expelled from his mouth.

But in that moment Potter had become Harry and Draco knew he could never, never go back from that. Finally he knew what he'd wanted from Harry all these years, why every rejection had stung so much, why every snub had left Draco sulking on his bed in the Slytherin dorms, vowing to hate Harry Potter until the wold came crashing down around him.

It did right then, though not in any way Draco might have been expecting, instead with the most powerful climax of his life as he clung desperately to the man who was clinging just as desperately to him. They stilled, all motion leaving them as they swirled down from the high of a lifetime, only to notice their surroundings. Potter backed up slightly, letting Draco's legs fall to the ground, most decidedly unstable, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Draco's elbows in a steadying grip.

Draco blinked several times and met his eyes, pupils blown so wide they were almost black, the green of his irises an afterthought, lost in a sea of smouldering passion.

“I, um. What was that, exactly? And where are we?” Draco managed, mostly coherently.

“That was the result of eight years of unresolved sexual tension, I think. And we're just outside my flat,” Harry replied, grinning lasciviously at Draco, a word he had never fathomed would apply to any look he would ever receive from Harry Potter. But there was no time to consider the novelty of it all, as the man in question was once again speaking.

“I don't think it's all resolved yet, do you?” he was saying, but Draco was unable to do anything but stare at him blankly. “I'm about ready for round two, and I think we'd better take this inside where I can fuck you comfortably in my bed, rather than against my door.” He pressed his hardening prick against Draco's once more, which brought to his attention the cooling, congealing mess in his pants.

Yes, Harry was right. Getting inside, and out of his pants, was a most excellent idea. The thought of then getting into Harry's bed was even more enticing. He nodded dumbly, unable to form more than the most basic of words, but it was enough. Harry grinned widely and let go, waving one hand over his door and, with a whispered spell, unlocking and opening it. He pulled Draco with the other, manhandling him inside, the heat of the flat washing over him in a wave.

Oh yes. More sex, proper sex, with Harry was a fabulous idea. Draco gave up trying to figure it all out and just went with it, letting Harry take him on the ride of his life, for once giving in to what _he_ wanted, with no thought to the future or the repercussions of shagging the Boy He'd Wanted For Practically Ever.

That had been his first mistake. The second had been when, upon waking up in Harry's bed, warm and sore and utterly at peace with the situation, he had allowed himself to believe even for moment that this is what he could have, truly, for the rest of his life.

It had all gone downhill from there.

_7\. The Day Draco Has A ‘Talk’_

The week was going by slowly. Agonizingly, even. Work was drudgery, with no sign of ~~Harry~~ Potter in the Ministry, and no late-night, unannounced knock on the door of his flat. There were owls however, mainly from his father, demanding that he attend the upcoming Beltane Ball with the Greengrass girl, to which he finally acquiesced. After all, why not make his family happy if he couldn't have what, who, he wanted.

And he wanted, oh so much. He wanted Harry. Harry who had grown up so well, having had proper nutrition throughout the majority of his teen years. He wasn't quite as tall as Draco, but almost, a testament to how tall he would have been had he not been starved as a child. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. Long arms and legs sported strong, lean muscles, the same that covered his whole body. In turn, they were covered by soft, pale skin and thick, wiry hair. They shifted and bunched under his now much better fitting clothes, drawing Draco's eye whenever they were in the same room. He had grown into his somewhat awkward features, leaving him with a strong, square jaw and a high forehead, now rarely covered with a messy fringe. Harry kept his hair shorter these days, and it suited him. He possessed a casual masculinity that never failed to get Draco's cock to rise. Even his hands were strikingly masculine, long, strong fingers, palms rough with calluses, wide knuckles and bit-off fingernails.

Draco groaned and threw himself back on his bed. No trace of Harry remained, not a hair, not a hint of his cologne. The realisation that there may never be any again was sobering. And depressing. The thought that he'd be forced to sleep in sheets perfumed with whatever Greengrass wore was beyond depressing.

He hadn't agreed to the betrothal yet. He could still refuse, could still find someone to be with. Someone else. Someone not Harry. His stomach clenched at the thought. No, then. If it wasn't going to be Harry, he might as well marry the chit. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, not yet.

Draco sat up suddenly, his head spinning. There was a banging at the door, persistent and heavy, but no, it wasn't Harry's knock. Too fast, too... annoying. Draco laid back down, swearing in frustration. All he wanted to do was hide, ignoring the world until everything he desired appeared in front of him, like magic. Everything being Harry. But even magic couldn't make Harry love him, not really. And Harry had too many suspicious friends for Draco to pull off a love potion or something similar, so it was pointless. Not that he would ever do such a thing. Really.

The banging didn't stop so he dragged himself out of the bed, finally, wondering who the fuck could be pounding so persistently at his door at two in the afternoon on a Thursday. Pulling it open, he had the shock of his life when he saw a mightily pissed off Hermione Granger on the other side. She looked the way she had in third year, right before she'd clocked him in the nose. He took a step back, just to be safe.

“Malfoy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, one foot tapping impatiently.

“Granger,” Draco replied stupidly, still not over the shock of seeing her there.

“Are you going to let me in, or shall we have this discussion here in the corridor?”

“I don't think we have anything to say to each other, Granger,” Draco said with a sneer. All his time spent with Harry had not erased all the old habits, it seemed. He made to close the door, but she pushed it back, inserting herself into the room insistently.

“What have you done to Harry?” she snapped, bringing Draco up short.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Granger?” he snapped back, closing the door after all. It wouldn't do for any of the neighbours to hear, one never knew who might sell news, even false news, to the Daily Prophet and the last thing Draco needed was his name connected to Harry's in print. His father would go spare and Harry would likely blame him and never speak to him again. Not that he would anyway, after Draco had kicked him out the way he had. Still. No need to burn his bridges, however shakily they were built.

“He's been a right moody bitch this last week and I want to know why. I only had to push him for a bit for him to tell me you'd thrown him out and it was probably just sexual frustration, but I can't fathom why he'd care all that much that you won't let him fuck you anymore, so there has to be something else. So, what did you do to him?”

She appeared to have said all that without stopping to breathe. Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was a spell, or if she always talked that way. He forced himself to focus on her words, before she decided to go all third year on him. They'd grown up since then, and she'd hit him pretty hard that time. She would probably break his nose this time, and he wasn't in the mood for any more pain.

“So Potty's got himself in a piss of a mood because I refuse to let him take advantage of me anymore? I don't see how that's my problem, Granger,” Draco said, sneering again. He seemed to do that a lot in the company of self-righteous Gryffindors. It wasn't his best look, so maybe this was for the best. If he and Harry ever did have a relationship, in some alternate universe where he hadn't fucked things up from the first day of their acquaintance, he'd have to actually make an effort to restrain himself. He wasn't sure if he possessed that much will power.

“Harry, taking advantage of you?” Granger scoffed. “As if he'd have looked your way, if you hadn't thrown yourself at him. You're overestimating your importance in the grand scheme of things, you miserable prick.”

“Now, now, Granger, no need to get all mushy on me,” Draco drawled. “But let's get to the point, shall we? He's the one who threw himself at me, and I'm the one who's put up with his inexperienced pawing, clearly out of some form of misplaced gratitude for his testimony on behalf of myself and my parents, so if I choose to end this little fling, then it's none of your damn business.”

He stepped forward and opened the door, gesturing for her to leave. “You can tell him to grow a pair and treat me with a little more deference, as is my due, or find some other poor schmuck to fuck and run. As it is, I'm done with his bullshit, and I called him on it. I have better things to do than wait around for him to realise I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him, and he's been lucky to have me these months. Now get out before I throw you out, you puffed up Muggle.”

She turned as red as Weasley's hair at that last insult, and Draco felt rather proud of himself as she stormed out of the door and down the hall without another word. He slammed the door behind her, for good measure, before stomping back to his room and throwing himself on the bed once more. Life was so unfair, and fate continued to kick him in the balls. Harry would never want him again, not after what he'd called the frizzy wonder. He was so very loyal to his friends, like an overgrown puppy, and Draco would never be one of them.

Their first night came back to him, all the memories and emotions flooded the crevices of his mind as if it was yesterday. He could practically smell the tang of piss and see the alcohol fumes that had surrounded Potter like a haze. Then, he’d almost let himself believe it meant something.

But no, he was just another bone, to be chewed up and buried, left forgotten to rot in a hole somewhere, while Harry found someone more tasty to fuck.

Okay, so he’d lost the analogy there at the end. Bugger it.

“Argh!” Draco screamed into his pillow. He couldn't even keep his analogies straight. This Harry thing was fucking him right up. He should have just walked away that night, he should have ignored the half drunk Potter that had accosted him in that god-forsaken loo, and pretended that he had never wanted the bastard.

Draco let out another scream of frustration, getting up off the bed again. He began rummaging through his clothes, pulling them on quickly. He had to get out of this flat, away from the bed that, while it may not smell like Harry any longer, held too many memories for Draco's peace of mind.

Somehow he'd gotten emotionally invested in this thing they'd begun. Oh, who was he kidding, he'd been emotionally invested from the start. He'd quickly learned that not all Gryffindors wanted love and romance and a partner to share their lives with, or rather, this particular Gryffindor didn't want that. From Draco at least. He was perfectly happy just fucking Draco on the side, using him for sex until the real thing came back into his life.

Once dressed, he flooed directly to Pansy's flat, knowing she would be home at this time on a Thursday. He needed some retail therapy, and someone to knock some sense into his clearly addled brain. Pansy had always been good at that.

_4\. The Day Draco Stared Longingly Down The Corridor_

When they ran into each other at the Ministry, Harry was cold. So cold, one would think there was a history of enmity behind them. There was, but that was beside the point. The point being the fact that they'd been fucking for months, passion and heat burning away everything else there was between them. But the heat never lasted, an icy distance always seeped in.

Harry Potter had defied expectations and, instead of becoming an Auror or a high profile Seeker, had opened an investigation firm. It wasn't much of a firm, considering he was the only investigator. But then again, he hadn't been open for very long and he did work with the Ministry on an occasional basis, so it wouldn't be long before he had an office swarming with self-righteous Gryffindor go-getters brimming over with investigative prowess.

Draco would never be one of them, he was far too pragmatic for that. It was just another reason why it would never work out between him and Harry, their outlooks were just so different. That and the lack of any kind of public acknowledgement. As if Draco was a non-entity outside of the bedroom of his stylish flat on Parall Alley.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, nodding his head as he passed Draco in the corridor near the Department of Magical Oddities. Draco had worked his arse off to get his position as Junior Tinkerer, although he was well aware that Harry's testimony had been the deciding factor. His cold, objective testimony.

What would Harry's fans and sycophants think if they knew he spent so many nights in Draco's bed, shagging him into the mattress, against the wall, in the bath, wherever they happened to end up before the heat rose and passion took them again?

But did it really matter? What did it count for? When Harry could not even spare him a glance in public, much less a word. When his father pressed ever harder for him to acquiesce to nuptials with the Greengrass girl. And he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Harry would no longer touch him if he did agree. That it would be over then just as certainly as it would be when the Weasley girl came back to claim her place at Harry's side.

Draco was struck by sudden despair at the knowledge, the fact of their ending. He turned, watching Harry stride down the hall, no doubt to visit Arthur Weasley in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department. The man had been offered a better position but had refused it, preferring to stay where he was, a position he enjoyed all the more with an increase in salary. Once Harry had passed from sight, Draco scoffed.

In a way Draco envied Arthur Weasley, something that Draco’s father would be enraged and disgusted to hear. To hold a position he loved, revelling every day in the job he did, with no need to turn his thoughts to rising to a more vaulted place. Draco could not afford such a luxury, though his job satisfied him well enough. To rise to head of the Department was all he desired; a bit more challenge, added responsibility, that was all he wished. That and Harry, in public and in private.

Yet such was not enough for Lucius Malfoy. He would have Draco in a position of power, deep in the games and deceits of politics. That Draco had no mind for it mattered to him not at all.

“Malfoy?”

He started, drawn back to the present by a harsh voice.

“Is there a reason you are standing in the corridor like an imbecile? I was told you were of some intelligence, please tell me it was not a mistake to hire you.”

“I'm sorry, I was just distracted,” Draco replied. Harmen Bastien was an unforgiving employer, but fair. He looked down on Draco, but wasn't above admitting that he had a talent for the job. All in all, things could be worse.

Then again, things could be better.

“Well, your work won't do itself, so you'd better get back to it,” Bastien said, turning and gesturing toward the door. Draco took one more look in the direction Harry had gone before sighing and trudging back to his cubicle where an array of mis-charmed and malfunctioning knick-knacks demanded his attention. For the most part.

_8\. The Time In Between_

The weeks passed, slower than any other Draco had suffered through in his life. Even when Voldemort had taken over the Manor, even during that year of hell, he'd clung to the hope that Harry would come through for him. For everyone. And now, it was only Draco on the line, Draco's heart that hung in the balance, but the hope, the belief that, one day, Harry would come through for him, had long since curled up into a ball and died, shrivelled up until it was practically non existent. Still, something had survived the revelations that had come the night he'd kicked Harry out of his flat. It had seemed impossible to hang on to such a small hope, but apparently, Draco was a fool beyond all reason.

Pansy had kept him occupied, of course, and there were also the weekly meetings with his father. He had agreed to take Astoria to the blasted Beltane Ball, but he hadn't agreed to the betrothal. He felt fairly certain that he would but...not yet. Not until that dried up ball of hope went up in a burst of flames, which it would no doubt do the night of the Ball. Harry was sure to be there too, Merlin knows what poor sod would be his date for the evening. If it turned out to be the Weasley girl, Draco's head might explode. Or his heart.

On the other hand, that would definitely kill the smidgen of hope he had left, and perhaps that was just what the Healer ordered, just what he needed to get his life back on track again. Marrying Astoria wouldn't be too bad, she was a pleasant enough girl, really. It wasn't even that she was a girl, per se, Draco was sure he could get it up for her if his duties required him to. It was just that she wasn't Harry.

The problem was, that seemed to be all that mattered.

_2\. The Morning The Regrets, And Confusion, Set In_

When Harry had woken to the sight of Draco watching him, he jumped clear out of the bed, staring down at Draco as if there were a blast Ended Skrewt in his bed, instead of Draco's sleek and naked body.

“Malfoy,” he said nervously, cupping his genitals with one hand while running the other through his already messy hair. “Uh, what are you doing here? Still.”

Draco frowned at the implication that he should had left already, after all, it had been Harry who had accosted him and apparated them there without asking for permission. Git.

“I was asleep. Considering my state of intoxication and then the way you shagged me into exhaustion, I hadn't got around to leaving yet,” Draco drawled. “Problem?”

“Yeah, I...well, I don't know what to say,” Harry said, looking anywhere but the bare skin displayed in his bed, and Draco's chest ached with hurt. Hadn't Harry called him sexy, just last night? Among a torrent of other compliments?

“It's been fun?” Harry tried, grinning nervously. “Thanks for the shag? See you around? It’s not like this could last, might as well make a clean break, yeah?”

“Seriously?” Draco asked, shaking his head, but Harry didn't have an answer for him, he just shifted from foot to foot and looked anywhere but at Draco.

“Fine,” Draco said, throwing himself out of the bed and following the trail of clothes they'd left into the sitting room. He pulled them on as he picked them up, anger taking the place of hurt, for now anyway. After everything Harry had said last night, after the passion and intensity he'd shown while shagging Draco into a sated stupor, the cold shoulder stung like a lemon squeezed into a paper cut.

“Have a nice life, Scarhead,” Draco shouted over his shoulder, slamming the door of the flat on the way out. He fully intended to storm off and find a place to apparate, but instead found himself leaning back against the door, breathing through the desire to open it again and send his nastiest hex in Harry's direction. How dare the prat get Draco all lathered up and then just kick him out? He at least deserved breakfast. Or another shag. Or several.

The anger was fading into hurt again, so Draco forced himself away from the door and walked away, with much less force than he'd envisioned only moments earlier. Leave it to Harry Potter to fuck with his head and leave him wanting more. So what else was new?

_9\. The Night Draco Discovered He May Have Been Wrong All Along_

The night of the Ball was cool and crisp, but the sky was free of clouds and the weather mild. It was held out of doors as tradition demanded, the practice engendered a certain ambiance in addition to the fires, a single large one that burned in the center and several smaller ones surrounding the space. The ground was charmed so that it still looked like a field, short grass waving with the wind currents, but it was as hard as tile, as the attendees were dressed in their best.

There were charms to control how much of the weather was let in, to control the temperature and to contain any stray sparks from the fires. There were unlimited alcoves for couples and groups to slip away into, integrated into the surrounding trees by means of wizard space. Draco eyed them as he and Astoria passed, trying not to wish that he had someone to disappear into one with. He sighed internally and moved on.

There was a reception area for those apparating in, also equipped with temporary floos. The floos were mainly used by those departing, as most were quite intoxicated and splinching was always a risk. The space was equipped with drink stations at regular intervals, manned by bartenders with a wide array of wine, ale, spirits and liqueurs, as well as circulating trays filled with a myriad of appetizers that were charmed to avoid the guests, hold the food and vanish to be refilled once empty. All in all, it was a flawlessly planned and executed event, and much more in keeping with the social mores of high society than the crude bonfires so popular with younger folk and Muggles. Draco supposed he was still a ‘young person’ but in his opinion, that was no excuse to act like a Muggle. Far too undignified for the Malfoy heir, at any rate.

It was also attended by anyone who was anyone in Wizarding Britain, and even many who were not so prominent. It was one of those not-to-be-missed events, the kind where people made statements in what they wore, how they acted, and who they attended with.

And here he was, with Astoria Greengrass on his arm. Oh, she looked resplendent in her gown, snug in the bodice to show off her assets and then flowed out over her hips to fall in a graceful circle around her feet. The dress was pale yellow at the top, to match her hair, deepening into gold, orange and finally a deep red at the bottom, the color of the flames burning in their midst. Draco had to admit, it was stunning and very appropriate, and she looked amazing in it. He was the envy of most of the men there, although that fact did nothing to improve his mood.

The other men could have her, for all he cared. No, he would rather be on the arm of someone else entirely, someone he just then spotted through the milling crowd.

Harry looked marvellous. Gorgeous. Amazing and completely shaggable. He was wearing a Muggle suit, of all things, and despite the flagrant Muggleness of it, he looked born to wear it. His broad shoulders were accented to perfection, as were his lean hips and strong thighs. The fabric moulded to him in places and flowed smoothly in others, giving him an air of strength and vitality. He was clean shaven for once, though Draco was certain if he were to rub his cheek against Harry's it would still come away raw; and his hair was as neat as it ever was. That is to say, not very, although the shorter haircuts he favoured lately mitigated the messiness somewhat.

Their eyes met, and Draco felt as if someone had cast a body bind on him. Harry's gaze was as intense as ever, but his eyes were particularly fiery tonight. Quite frankly, he looked pissed off. Draco wanted to believe that he was the reason why, but he could not bring himself to awaken the smidgen of hope, lest it turn on him when Harry inevitably rejected him again.

Still, he was ravishing. Draco swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. While he'd never had any real claim to the man, just knowing that Harry wasn't even his lover, no, fuck buddy, anymore... well, it stung. The ache in his chest throbbed, but he forced himself to turn from the draw of Harry's eyes and his masculine beauty and turned instead at the woman on his arm. She was just as spectacular, in her own way, but it was utterly lost on Draco. Were it otherwise, his life would be a whole lot simpler, that was certain.

“Wow, Harry Potter looks amazing tonight, doesn't he, Draco?” Astoria asked sweetly, smiling up at Draco.

“I wouldn't know,” Draco replied, pointedly not turning around to look some more.

“I'm sure you don't,” she said, lifting a pale brow in Draco's direction. “You would look amazing in an outfit like that, as well. Maybe you should go ask him where he bought it.”

“I'd rather not, thanks,” Draco said stiffly, giving her a weak smile. “Never mind Harry bloody Potter. Let's mingle, shall we?” He took her arm in his and led them away from the man he was pretending to ignore. The attempt was bound to fail, but he had to try it anyway. For appearances sake, at least.

The evening only went downhill from there. Draco could feel Harry's eyes on him all night, and it set him right on the edge of sanity, control and arousal. He was able, through years of practice and repetition, to keep up the facade for Astoria's sake, but it was a close thing. It didn't help that the spectre of sex was in the air and before the night was half over a large number of people had paired, or more, off and headed for the alcoves or the floos.

Astoria appeared to be having a wonderful time however, and Draco wondered if she was entertaining ideas of taking him home in an attempt to get him to agree to the betrothal. Tipsy or not, he was certain he'd not drunk enough to consider it.

He and Harry had been circling each other all night, one leaving as the other came near, one turning when the other came in their direction. Fate seemed to want them together in the most awkward of circumstances. Harry hadn’t brought a date, much to Draco’s relief, but that only left him with more time to spend stalking Draco around the ballroom. It seemed that whenever Draco went to the loo, Harry wasn’t far behind; whenever he went to the bar, Harry was there already. The sexual tension and anticipation was rising as it approached midnight, it had settled in the base of Draco's skull and had long since stretched out into the rest of his body.

It was bound to come to a head sooner or later, though Draco found himself wishing it had been sooner. When it did happen, he just felt weary, bone deep with exhaustion. His heart could not take this anymore. He’d had enough. He would talk to Father in the morning, and sign the damn papers. Then he could forget that he'd found something in Harry's arms that he could never find anywhere else.

Besides, if he wasn't going to be happy, his family might as well be.

“Malfoy,” Harry spat out, his voice as hard as his cock when it had pressed into Draco's body...no, best not think of that. There was no silk covering the steel this time though, a sharp reminder of where he was and with whom.

“Surprised to see you here,” he continued, while Draco was ruing the day he'd laid eyes on the man.

“Oh?” Draco replied, archly. “Did I miss the notice that it was Gryffindorks, Hufflepoufs and Ravensquares only? Or do you have a more personal reason for wanting me to stay away?” Draco challenged. He could feel Astoria's grip on his arm tightening, but he ignored it in favour of the heat in Harry's eyes. Perhaps he had been mistaken, perhaps Harry felt something for him after all. Besides lust, that is, and anger. And intense burning hatred. No, actually, all of those could account for Harry's confronting him in this manner.

“No actually, I thought you'd be too cowardly to show your face,” Harry growled, an answering shiver running down Draco's spine. “After all, you're not exactly the favorite son you always thought you were, are you?”

Draco scoffed. “At least I don't walk around puffed up on self-righteousness and fevered imaginings of my own importance. Like several others I could name.”

Harry stiffened even further, if such a thing were possible, and Draco allowed himself a mental pat on the back. His self congratulations didn't last very long.

“At least I have something to feel proud of,” Harry said, quietly. “At least I'm doing what I want, instead of what Daddy tells me.”

Draco flinched. That stung, moreso because it was true, Draco realized that he’d always intended to go through with the betrothal, sooner or later, his family responsibility was far too ingrained to cast aside without a very compelling reason. They stared at each other for a few long moments, the silence around them deafening. Draco considered tossing back something about how Harry didn't have a father to obey, but he brushed that off as too juvenile. Not that they weren't acting like children as it was, he didn't want to push it too far. He didn't know what to say, so of course his mouth spoke up before his brain realised what was happening.

“Well, maybe no-one has given me a reason to do otherwise,” he said, his gaze holding Harry's. Moments passed while Harry's eyes softened but then, looking between Draco and Astoria, they froze up again.

“Who would want to give you one?” Harry sneered. “Who would want someone who is too afraid of Daddy to think for himself?”

Draco stood there, mouth agape, a look he was certain was not at all attractive on him, but he couldn't stop it. Harry had changed in the years since Hogwarts, and not all for the better. When had he learned to be so cruel? Draco had learned at his Father's knee, it was true, but he'd been trying to move past that, to be his own man. Clearly, he hadn't tried hard enough.

“You know what, Potter?” he made the word as harsh and ugly as he could, to match Harry's words. “I don't have time for this childishness. Owl me when you've grown up, alright?” He took Astoria's hand and turned away, but Harry's words stopped him again. As they always did, as they always had.

“It goes both ways, Draco,” Harry said, his voice softer, caressing Draco's name in a way he thought he’d never get to hear. He shivered.

“When you're ready to step out of Daddy's shadow, owl me.”

Draco could hear his footsteps as he walked away, but he didn't turn. He couldn't watch Harry walk away from him again. Instead, he walked away himself, leaving Astoria behind him as well.

She found him later in one of the private alcoves, with a bottle of Firewhisky as his partner.

“Draco,” she said, sitting beside him and reaching for the bottle. He relinquished it reluctantly, but she was firm. He thought she would set it aside, but she surprised him by taking a swig right out of the bottle.

“Astoria,” he said, slightly scandalized. “That's not very lady-like.”

“No, perhaps not,” she replied, stopping to have another drink before continuing, “but then again, I'm not as lady-like as I would have you believe.”

He stared at her. “Or anyone else, I imagine.”

“Precisely.” She smiled at him, taking one more drink before returning the bottle. He took it and had a drink himself, lapsing back into thoughts of Harry and what might have been if he hadn't been such an arsehole when he was eleven. Or if Harry wasn't being such an arsehole now.

“Draco,” Astoria said, breaking the silence and Draco's ever downward spiralling thoughts. “Why are you hiding in here with a bottle of Firewhisky?”

“It's the only place to get some quiet around here,” he replied, taking another swig and passing her the bottle again.

“I'm sure there are some people who could make better use of it than you are.” She took another drink, a long one this time, before passing it back. She really wasn't the fussy girl he'd thought her to be. Maybe this marriage wouldn't be so bad after all.

“Too bad for them,” he snarled. “I'm using it, it doesn't matter what for.”

“Sulking is hardly an appropriate use,” Astoria said, nudging her shoulder with his.

“I am not sulking!” he exclaimed, but she just laughed.

“Yes you are, Draco. You can deny all you want to yourself, but I see you more clearly than that,” she said.

“You don't know anything about me,” Draco said. “We barely even know each other.”

“That's not true.” She nudged him on the shoulder again and he looked at her, surprised by the look of amusement on her face. “Just because you were too busy during our school years to pay attention to a younger girl like me doesn't mean I didn't pay any attention to you. Oh, don't look at me like that Draco, I'm not in love with you. Anymore.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “You were in love with me?” She nodded, her eyes wistful, so he passed her the bottle again.

“Sorry,” he said, but she just shook her head, toying with the label on the whisky bottle.

“It's alright, I got over that before you graduated.”

“Oh, good,” he said, feeling a bit less like an oblivious moron.

“Yes, I spent a lot of time watching you, before the war, in my fifth year, and that's when I fancied myself in love with you. But then, when we all came back to redo the war year, it kind of faded.”

“Oh,” was all he could say to that.

“Well, you were still beautiful and everything I'd fancied before, if a little less outgoing, but...” she trailed off, so Draco looked up, to see a thoughtful expression across her features. He took notice for the first time, taking a good look at her. She really was beautiful; strong, classic facial structure and lovely, pale green eyes framed by wavy blonde hair. Why had he never noticed her eyes were green before? Perhaps because a darker, more stunning pair had riveted his attention since he was eleven. Or because she was a girl. Or that he'd tried hard not to notice her before then.

Perhaps it was a combination of the three. Regardless, she was lovely. She'd make some man a...oh wait. Scratch that.

“But?” he prompted, placing the bottle on the bench beside him, leaning back to look at the stars instead.

“But, in that repeat year, I realised that it would never be. That's when I realised that you're gay.”

Draco froze. How had she figured that out?

“Oh, Draco, it was fairly obvious for someone who watched you as close as I did,” she said, smiling at him. Shit, he'd said that out loud. His control was seriously lacking since this thing with Harry had begun. Whether that was months or years ago, Draco wasn’t sure.

“I never, I didn't... how? Why?” he shook his head to stop the babbling. “I didn't date, or even kiss, a single boy that year,” he said at last.

“Well, there was one boy you never took your eyes off of. In fact, after making a few discrete enquiries and thinking back to the previous years of watching you, it became all too clear,” she said.

“Well, if you could enlighten me?” he asked.

“I don't know how anyone could miss it. You were so plainly in love with Harry Potter,” she said, and promptly had to pound Draco on the back as he was suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing. When he'd regained his breath, he looked at her incredulously.

“I was not!” he exclaimed, but once again, she just laughed.

“Yes, you were. Didn't you know?” she asked, smiling slyly at him. “Draco, you never took your eyes off him for a second, if he were in the room. You spent your first five years at school harassing him and his friends, clearly out of hurt that he rejected you and jealousy that he chose them instead. You may as well have pulled his hair and dipped it in your inkwell.”

“What? I did not! I hated him genuinely,” Draco insisted. “He was an utter, self righteous prat, and someone had to bring him down from that pedestal.”

“Oh, is that all it was? I suppose you were well up to the task, then?” she said and Draco could tell she wasn't buying a word he said.

“Well, no one else seemed willing or able to do it. Who better than me?” Draco asked with a wry grin. Astoria just smiled at him.

“Well, whether or not you were then, you're in love with him now. And based on that spectacle you two put on earlier, he's in love with you too.”

Draco was far too stunned by her second statement to pay any attention to the first. He stared at her in amazement, unable or unwilling to believe her. He gaped at her for a few minutes, trying to come up with something, anything to say.

“You didn't know? I thought he was so upset because you'd finally agreed to the betrothal,” Astoria said, though Draco still could not respond. “You are sleeping with him, aren't you?”

Draco just shook his head, his mind finally focusing on one thought. If Astoria, who by this point had proven herself very observant, thought that Harry was in love with him, could he be? Was it possible that Harry returned Draco’s feelings but was too frightened to make them known? He'd never given Draco a reason to believe that he was anything but a part time fuck buddy, but, then again, Draco had never given him a reason to think he wanted anything otherwise. Just as Harry had said.

He'd been so wrapped up in his own angst, his own perceptions of who and what Harry was, that he'd probably missed every sign that Harry had shown him. He'd been so focused on keeping his own tells under control, on never letting Harry see how much he was affected by him, by the things they'd done, the way they'd touched each other. He'd never opened his eyes and really looked, plainly and without bias. He'd made an assumption and had based his entire world view upon it.

Just as he had at Hogwarts.

“Astoria!” he exclaimed at last, startling her. He stood quickly, swaying a bit, before grasping her face and pulling her in for a sloppy, hurried kiss.

“I love you. But not like that. The betrothal is off, and I've got to go,” he said in one breath, staring at her incredulously. “I'll owl you, we'll have lunch.” And with that he was out of the alcove and headed in the direction of the apparition room, leaving Astoria behind, bemused and smug.

_6\. The Night Harry Was A Complete Prat_

Draco found himself pressed up against the door of his flat, trousers around his ankles and Harry's tongue loosening his hole by sheer force of will. It was hot, always so hot, and wet and suddenly Draco felt something inside him break, something that screamed 'no!' over and over until he twisted away, tripping on his pants and sprawling on the floor, panting as he scrabbled back. He put as much distance between himself and Harry as he could.

“Stop, we... just stop,” he gasped, trying to tug his pants and trousers up and having only partial success.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?” Harry asked from his position on the floor across from Draco. And there, that's another thing. Harry still called him Malfoy. Draco had even told him to use his first name, but he never did. And Potter had long since become Harry in Draco's head, though he avoided using his name when at all possible, biting out a forced 'Potter' when it became utterly necessary.

“That's exactly it,” Draco said, struggling onto his feet and putting his clothes to rights. “Fuck. That's all we do, we just fuck.”

Harry looked confused, brushing his sweaty fringe back and wiping the saliva from his face before standing up as well. “I thought that was the point,” he said.

“The point of what?” Draco asked.

“Of this thing we're doing,” Harry replied, taking a step closer, his eyes intense. “I mean, we fuck, presumably because it's the best sex either of us has ever had, and then we go back to our regular lives because both of us know that there will never be anything more between us.”

And oh, didn't that just kill the shred of hope that Draco hadn't even realised he'd been clinging to. That same hope that had tortured him throughout their school years, the hope that one day Harry would come up to him and say 'I'm sorry for not shaking your hand, would you like to be friends?' The hope that had morphed into Harry saying 'I love you' after they'd shagged for hours and lay tangled in Draco's sweaty sheets, or even just 'why don't we go out for dinner, before we go back to your place and shag like rabid animals', in the corridors of the Ministry or after bumping into each other in Diagon Alley.

“Right,” Draco said, rebuckling his belt and holding his temper by a thread. “Right, of course we both know that. Right, okay, it's...”

“What is wrong with you tonight, Malfoy?” Harry said, scrunching his nose at Draco in seeming disgust.

Draco took a deep breath and gathered up his courage. Not that there was much of it to begin with, but his dignity was bolstering him to an act that he would never have attempted otherwise.

“What's wrong with me is that I can't do this anymore. I'm worth more than to just be your secret shag, the one you can't tell your friends about because they would never believe you if you told them anyway. The one they would guilt trip you out of, the one they would be more than slightly disgusted to learn about.”

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, but it was unnecessary anyway, since that was when Harry had opened his again, and that shred of hope Draco had clung to shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

“Oh, they know, they just don't care.”

Draco opened his eyes again. “What?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean?”

“It means they don't care,” Harry said, eyeing Draco as one would a crazy person. And perhaps he was.

“They don't care,” Draco stated, still trying to parse it.

“Well, why would they? They know it's just a release, you know, to blow off steam while I'm waiting for Ginny to get back. It's not like it'll ever go anywhere, so they don't care. And again, what is wrong with you tonight?”

“What's wrong is that I am an idiot. And you need to go.” Draco walked to the door, the one Harry had been about to shag him against. He could barely look at it. He'd have to move, clearly he couldn't live in this flat anymore.

“What? Why?” Harry looked pissed and a little confused, but Draco's head had never been clearer.

“Get the fuck out, you fucking user,” Draco said firmly, throwing open the door, never meeting Harry's eyes.

“User? Wait, how can you use someone who is only in it for the sex?” Harry hadn't moved but the fire had flared in his eyes and Draco was becoming desperate. He felt a full on breakdown looming and the last time he'd felt like that with Harry near his blood had soaked the tiles of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

“Just get the fuck out, Potter.” That one hadn't needed to be forced. Draco felt something like himself again, as his feelings for Harry Potter teetered back to hatred, having hung from the cliffs of lust and admiration for far too long.

“Fine,” Harry said, finally redoing his jeans and stalking toward the door, his face set in anger. “I don't have time for your drama anyway, I have an early morning.”

As he passed Draco, he stopped and before Draco realised what was happening he was clutching Potter's jacket desperately, kissing him as if his life depended on it. He pulled back once he'd realised what he’d done and before Harry could do anything but stand there looking like the imbecile Draco had always assumed he was, Draco pushed him out and slammed the door in his face, throwing up every ward and locking charm he could think of before falling to the floor in sudden exhaustion.

All in all, not his best night.

_10\. The Night They Finally Get It Right_

Draco had only been to Harry's flat once, but he'd never forget where it was. Within moments he was pounding on Harry's door, hoping that this is where Harry had gone when he'd left.

He had. Harry opened the door promptly, though by the looks of him, he'd been having the same conversation with a Firewhisky bottle that Draco had been having before Astoria had written him a reality cheque. Lovely girl that, he would need to buy her a gift. An expensive gift.

“Malfoy,” Harry began, but Draco just gave him a shove, forcing his way into the flat.

“Not out here,” he said, moving around Harry and into the flat, turning the corner into the sitting room and waiting for Harry to catch up.

“What?” Harry said harshly. That was when Draco realised he didn't know what to say.

“You are such a fucking coward!” came out before he realised he was speaking.

“What?” Harry repeated, questioning him. “You've just come here to insult me?”

“That's not the only reason,” Draco snapped at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, you've got the insult out of the way, so what else do you want?”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Draco countered Harry's question with one of his own.

“Tell you what? Talking isn't what we do best, Malfoy,” Harry replied.

“Clearly. And yet I want an answer,” Draco said.

“To what question?” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Why didn't you tell me how you feel about me?”

“Oh for,” Harry's hands dropped and he ran them through his hair. “What makes you think I feel anything for you?”

“Astoria,” Draco said simply.

“Your fiance,” Harry spoke the word with undeniable derision.

“She's not my fiance,” Draco said quickly, before Harry could get another word in. “She never was, tonight was mostly to shut my father up,” he concluded.

“Oh, but...” Harry trailed off. They both seemed at a loss for words, or clues on where to go from there. Draco was beginning to go a little mad in the uncertain silence when Harry spoke again.

“So, how did Astoria know that... you know,” he said, fidgeting and throwing glances at Draco, never meeting his eyes.

“She noticed in Hogwarts,” Draco replied, amused at Harry's shocked face, but he continued. “That I had certain inclinations, and from there she figured out where my affections were directed,” he said rather stiffly. How does one discuss one's feelings, especially when they go that far back, when one is accustomed to ignoring said feelings, even going so far as to pretend they're not there?

“And you admitted it?” Harry asked.

“Not to her,” Draco clarified, turning away and fiddling with the knick-knacks and pictures frames on the mantlepiece. “But then she said she'd noticed the same about you and... you do, don't you?”

“Have,” Harry said, finishing as eloquently as ever with, “yeah.”

“Good,” Draco replied. “That's... good.”

“So Astoria's really not--” Harry began, but Draco interrupted him before he could finish.

“No, never,” he assured Harry. “Except in my father's mind, that is. It's too bad for him.”

“Oh?” Harry asked absently, his gaze now fixed on Draco's mouth. He took a step forward.

“Well, he'll have to learn to live with it, won't he?” Draco said, taking a step closer as well.

“So you've made a decision then?” Harry asked.

“I wouldn't be here if I hadn't,” Draco said. “It's good to know it's not been made for me. By my father, or by you.”

“Me?” Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. “As if I had any influence on your decision making process.”

“But you did,“ Draco insisted. “I couldn't agree to marry her when I was feeling... things for you, but I couldn't say no either. I didn't want to burn a bridge with my father only to find out that you weren't interested. I thought you weren't.”

“How could you think I wasn't interested?” Harry asked. “I only practically attacked you whenever we met.”

“Yet you only ever met me in my flat, mostly the bedroom. And after shagging me silly, you'd leave abruptly, usually going on about how much you were looking forward to your girlfriend getting back, how you couldn't wait. You made it pretty clear that I was just a stop-gap shag,” Draco pointed out, and Harry had to bashfully agree.

“Okay, I see what you mean,” Harry nodded. “Sorry about that, it was kind of a defence mechanism. I kept expecting you to tell me that you were getting married and it was over. Or expecting your engagement to be announced and having to end it myself.”

They stared into each other for a few minutes, both trying to work things out in their heads, neither one really succeeding. Draco supposed Harry was right. From his perspective, he couldn't do or say anything until Draco made a move either way. Apparently, the move Draco had finally made had not been the one Harry had been hoping for.

All this time Draco had been waiting for Harry to make the move, all this time they had been circling each other, waiting. Draco closed his eyes as the missed opportunities flashed in front of his eyes. All this time they could have been together for real. They should have been, if Harry hadn’t conveniently forgotten he was a Gryffindor. Honestly, Draco was a Slytherin, not the type to make bold, risky declarations. He was all about self preservation, and Harry really should have known that.

“So,” Draco began, asking the last question that lay between them like a chasm. It was Harry's turn to make a decision. “What happens when the She-Weasel returns, then?”

“Right,” Harry said, shuffling nearer to Draco. “She, um, she's not coming back,” he said at last. “Not for me, anyway. We’re not... anything.”

Draco was stunned. “So it was all a lie?”

“A defence,” Harry insisted. “Something, anything to make you think I wasn't just going home to pine over the knowledge that you'd never be mine, not really.”

“That's,” Draco trailed off again. He’d been doing that a lot. What was it about Harry that made him either an utter prat or a complete imbecile? On the other hand, it seemed that he had the same effect on Harry, so he supposed they were even.

“Understandable,” he finished. “I have a few of those myself.”

“I've noticed,” Harry replied, meeting Draco's eyes again, at last, and smiling. “The cool as a cucumber, nothing can touch me facade is very effective.” Draco smiled back. Harry was within touching distance now and the temptation to do so was becoming unbearable. Something had to give and finally, it did.

His hand reached out, running slowly up Harry's arm, continuing up across his shoulder and into his hair, gripping the short locks there at the base of Harry's neck.

“Draco,” Harry whined, his eyes, his face strained with want.

“Do you want me, Harry Potter?” Draco asked carefully, his eyes fixed on Harry's face.

“Fuck, yes!” Harry said, leaning in to capture Draco's lips in a hard kiss, even as his arms wrapped around Draco's back. Then they were into it, no stopping now. Both of Draco's hands were buried in Harry's hair, holding his head close, the better to snog the breath out of him.

Harry was clinging, his hands gripping Draco's shoulders almost painfully as the kiss turned passionate. They both gave into it, letting go of their fears and doubts. Draco moaned, suddenly overwhelmed by the certainty that Harry loved him, that the feelings he had been denying and hiding for so long were returned. Knowing that Harry was his made him taste even better.

Harry must have felt the same because he was clinging to Draco as fiercely as Draco was clinging to him. It didn't take long before their hands began to roam, Draco's sliding down Harry's neck and shoulders, finally wrapping around his back while Harry's hands made their way unerringly to Draco's arse where they were engaged with squeezing and kneading.

“I need to be in you,” Harry said after pulling free of Draco's lips. He clenched Draco's arse cheeks together for emphasis as he began to suck kisses down Draco's neck, his stubble leaving an itch that Draco loved. His skin would be raw for hours after Harry's rough beard scrapped across it. The only reminder of Harry's passion that Draco loved more was the ache Harry inevitably left in Draco's arse. And from the way Harry was clutching at him, his arse would be sore before long.

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his crotch against Harry's in encouragement. Harry rubbed back, pushing until Draco's legs hit the front of the sofa. Harry continued pushing harder, toppling them both onto the cushions.

Draco gasped when Harry's weight pinned him in the cushions, his hard cock digging painfully into Draco's thigh. He wouldn't trade it for anything though, especially now that Harry was kissing him again, his tongue equally as insistent as his cock.

And there it was again, the heat that Draco had been missing. It was in Harry’s eyes, burning like green fire, seeping from his hands as he slid them up Draco’s torso, pushing his shirt up as he went. It pressed Draco into the sofa, surrounding him as surely as Harry’s body did. Every kiss, every touch pushed away the chill that had held Draco in it’s thrall whenever Harry wasn’t toughing him like this.

This heat was different, though. This heat, Draco knew now with certainty, would stay, lingering on his skin and in his heart, even when Harry wasn’t near. Draco basked in it, pulled it close and held tight.

“Take your clothes off,” Harry commanded, making Draco squirm.

“Only if you get off me, you big lump,” Draco replied, not making the slightest effort to dislodge him.

“Don't wanna,” Harry said, fumbling instead with Draco's belt and trousers, unfastening them sloppily before attacking his own. When he was done, he slid his hands under Draco's arse and pulled his clothes right off, pants and all. Draco gasped again at the suddenness of the action but Harry kept pulling, over arse and knees and soon Draco's clothing was tangled around his still shod feet.

Harry didn't bother to untangle them, simply pushing Draco's legs down so that he was bent almost double, presenting his bare arse to Harry's eager gaze.

And also to his cock, which was poking enthusiastically out of Harry's boxers as he rubbed it, still clothed, over Draco's bare cheeks.

“Your turn,” Draco insisted, tugging at Harry's shirt.

“Done,” Harry said, while pulling his pants over his hard cock, which bobbed as it was freed. “And done,” he finished, pulling the pants over his arse along with his jeans.

“Lube?” Harry asked expectantly, rubbing his leaking erection in Draco's crack.

“Now you ask?” Draco replied. “Sorry, but I wasn't thinking that far ahead when I dressed this evening.”

“You weren't?” Harry asked, clearly surprised. “Aren't you always ready for anything? You're like a Boy Scout.”

“A what?” Draco asked, but he quickly changed his mind. “Never mind. I'm usually prepared, that's the advantage of being a wizard. Which you are also, so get on with it!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, with a smirk, but he conjured the lube anyway, slicking his hard cock with it before sliding several perfunctory fingers into Draco's  hole preparing him quickly. Then, wasting no more time, thrusting at last, sheathing himself fully in Draco's welcoming heat.

“Don't want to be without this, ever again,” Harry said between groans and gasps as he expertly found Draco's hot spot and pounded it like a drum. Over and over, the thrusts filled him, hitting home with eerie accuracy.

“Oh god, Harry, me either,” Draco cried, his hands attempting to find purchase on Harry's sweat slickened skin, clinging as Harry fucked the breath out of him.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, thrusting harder, fast, still hitting Draco's prostate unerringly as they both approached climax.

It roared over Draco before he was even prepared for it, the heat of emotions and passion throwing him off the plateau with gusto, leaving him shaking in the aftermath. Harry wasn't far behind, his thrusts losing their accuracy as they became erratic but honestly, to Draco it was a blessing, his orgasm had thoroughly sensitized his skin, not to mention his arsehole.

“Draco, Draco, god,” Harry moaned in ecstasy, his cock pumping his sticky release into Draco's already sticky hole. He gasped and panted, letting Draco’s legs fall and he pulled back and out, collapsing on the couch behind him.

And there they lay, sated and, finally, feeling complete.


End file.
